Caleb's gaze is heavy and intent, taking in details now that they are closer, raking over the tattoos on Yussa's chest and lingering very obviously where the tempting shadow of his dark nipples can be seen through the sheer fabric. The sound of tinkling bells draws his eye down to the anklets he wears as the other man moves, coyly inviting him further into the room--and much more than that.
"Admittedly, that is what I was hoping for," Caleb flirts back, following until he's standing close again, this time pressed nearly chest to chest, demonstrating just how petite the elven man is in comparison. With bated breath, he slowly lifts a hand and places it lightly on the dip of Yussa's waist, as though needing to confirm for himself that now that he has paid, he is actually allowed to touch. After a moment, his grip becomes firmer, more certain. The fabric of Yussa's robe is so soft and light it feels like water, and his skin is warm beneath it. He rubs his thumb back and forth against his belly just above his hip bone.
"I am afraid I am not dressed for the weather at all. Help me out of these heavy clothes?" he requests with a smile somewhere between bashful and thrilled, meeting Yussa's entrancing golden eyes again. "My accent probably makes it obvious, but I have come all the way from Rexxentrum. Via teleportation, but still."
The jacket, book holster, boots, belt, trousers, and component pouch at least should be removed just for him to feel like he's not sweating through his clothes. And he very much wants to see Yussa's elegant hands, his slender fingers, do the work of divesting him of these things.
"I have heard that you are an arcanist also?" he continues carefully. "If I am honest, that is part of what made me interested in you. I, ah...did a little digging, and discovered that not only Storm Sphere, but the Investiture spells are attributed to an elven wizard residing in Nicodranas called Yussa Errenis." His brows lift for emphasis. "Assuming that is not a coincidence, you are brilliant. I am a transmutationist myself, and Investiture is such a seamless and elegant blending of self-alteration with evocation that--"
As if hearing himself for the first time, Caleb cuts himself off before he can finish that thought, and grimaces apologetically.
"Ah. I tried to tell myself not to bombard you with this right away, but it seems I could not help it."
no subject
"Admittedly, that is what I was hoping for," Caleb flirts back, following until he's standing close again, this time pressed nearly chest to chest, demonstrating just how petite the elven man is in comparison. With bated breath, he slowly lifts a hand and places it lightly on the dip of Yussa's waist, as though needing to confirm for himself that now that he has paid, he is actually allowed to touch. After a moment, his grip becomes firmer, more certain. The fabric of Yussa's robe is so soft and light it feels like water, and his skin is warm beneath it. He rubs his thumb back and forth against his belly just above his hip bone.
"I am afraid I am not dressed for the weather at all. Help me out of these heavy clothes?" he requests with a smile somewhere between bashful and thrilled, meeting Yussa's entrancing golden eyes again. "My accent probably makes it obvious, but I have come all the way from Rexxentrum. Via teleportation, but still."
The jacket, book holster, boots, belt, trousers, and component pouch at least should be removed just for him to feel like he's not sweating through his clothes. And he very much wants to see Yussa's elegant hands, his slender fingers, do the work of divesting him of these things.
"I have heard that you are an arcanist also?" he continues carefully. "If I am honest, that is part of what made me interested in you. I, ah...did a little digging, and discovered that not only Storm Sphere, but the Investiture spells are attributed to an elven wizard residing in Nicodranas called Yussa Errenis." His brows lift for emphasis. "Assuming that is not a coincidence, you are brilliant. I am a transmutationist myself, and Investiture is such a seamless and elegant blending of self-alteration with evocation that--"
As if hearing himself for the first time, Caleb cuts himself off before he can finish that thought, and grimaces apologetically.
"Ah. I tried to tell myself not to bombard you with this right away, but it seems I could not help it."